


A Candle for the Lost

by CascadianRain



Series: So Long to Devotion [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Chantry Boys, Comfort, F/M, Fantasizing, Imagined Kiss, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 01:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12806328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CascadianRain/pseuds/CascadianRain
Summary: 9:35 DragonHawke lights a candle in the Chantry on the anniversary of the Blight. Sebastian offers her comfort, but she no longer sees a Brother-initiate when she looks at him.





	A Candle for the Lost

This wasn’t the sort of thing Charlie did. Today, with sorrow laying heavy across her heart and ghosts hovering at her shoulder, it seemed right somehow.

The candle was heavier than she expected. Charlie plucked it from a shelf of its unlit fellows, all waiting for memories to consume them. There was room for them on the altar with those already claimed. The Sisters were diligent about clearing away the ones that went out. People were always dying and turning into candles. Got to make sure there’s space for them.

Rather than light her candle from another, Charlie produced a small flame between thumb and forefinger. There’s a comfort in fire. Primordial and wild. Gives and wrenches away. She held the wick between her fingers. Its wax coating melted away, exposing it to the heat and letting it turn black and twisted.

Reverently, Charlie slid the candle in its glass holder into place on the altar.

_For Mother. For Bethany._

She paused. Carver—as far as she knew—was hale and healthy with the Wardens. He hadn’t written in a while, but they’d have sent word if anything had happened. Even so—

_For Carver. Andraste keep them._

Five years ago today, the four of them fled Lothering.

Five years since the earth tore open and Darkspawn spewed forth. A plague that poisoned Ferelden for over a year before the Hero put a stop to it and saved them all. But it was too late for Lothering. Too late for a flock of Hawkes spooked from their nest.

Letters came in fits and starts from old friends who’d returned to the village and were rebuilding. It was home once. Could it ever be again, without her family?

Charlie heard him approach. Only because he let her—didn’t want to startle her. Would recognize his careful step anywhere. Sebastian came to stand beside her at the altar. Charlie never took her eyes from the candles. With his voice low—gentle—he began, “If there’s anything...” He said it so often it was a wonder he didn’t tire of it.

Without a word, Charlie grasped his hand. Sebastian twitched in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Steady and sure. That was Sebastian all over.

Each one of Charlie’s friends had lost someone along the way—lovers, mentors, siblings—but for some reason, it felt like only Sebastian could understand this loss. This depth of loneliness. He was the last Vael, and with Carver a Warden, Charlie was the last Hawke. Both far from what was once home. Her grip on his hand tightened. Sebastian squeezed back.

So strong and sure, her Starkhaven prince.

The meager physical distance between them was unbearable. She was a hunted wretch peering through a window at sanctuary—so near, yet denied her. She wouldn’t let his cage become hers.

She dared a glance at him. Sorrow lingered in his eyes as he looked down at the small flames on the altar, yet there was a flush to his tan cheeks and Maker help her, his hand was so warm. _All_ of him must be this warm.

He was always so self-controlled—he’d know how to use that control to focus his attentions...

Four years ago, he’d pulled his shirt off in her kitchen. An incredible sight then, and he’d only been _more_ active since then. It took strong arms to shoot that bow of his. Arms that could lift her, hold her... And that voice of his. _Maker_ , every time he said her name it lit her up.

It didn’t happen often. That self-control again. Every now and then, sometimes in the heat of battle or if she was being stubborn and he was losing patience or it’d been a week since they saw each other and his happiness startled it out of him. That was when he said _Charlie_ . Sometimes Charlotte. _Oof_. Fire. Wild and dangerous.

Hearing him whisper it in her ear while he traced his fingers down her skin, his lips brushing the curve of her ear—it’d be the end of her. He’d trail kisses from ear to collarbone, “one for every freckle,” he’d murmur, as his touch slid down her side, across her hips, and lower still—

Charlie shivered and her face flared with heat.

Sebastian glanced down at her with a question in his eyes. She stared firmly down at the candle she’d lit. What was wrong with her? Having such thoughts _here_ , in the bloody Chantry, at the bloody votive altar? And thoughts of her _friend_ no less.

Perhaps because...when Sebastian was there, everything felt _right_. Anything was possible. A life of freedom, beyond the towering walls that caged them both. All she had to do was close the inches between them.

If she kissed him, would he kiss her back?

It was loneliness and flirting that landed her in trouble the last time. Led her into bad decisions. She didn’t want to tempt him, when his faith was so important to him. Didn’t want to hurt him. Or make him disappear. It’d been surprisingly easy to get over Fenris, who at this rate must be gone for good. What made her so angry all last summer long was an anger at herself for being so bloody stupid. For not knowing what she truly wanted until she realized that an impulsive shag definitely wasn’t it.

But losing Sebastian was unthinkable.

No, she would quietly nurture these feelings she didn’t understand. His friendship was too important to stake on a moment of desperation. Fairy tale love wasn’t meant for Champions.

Charlie couldn’t stand there holding his hand forever. But maybe for a few minutes more.

On a sigh, she shifted her weight and leaned her whole body against his, her head on his shoulder. He rested his head on hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“This is going to sound silly, but...would you like to come over for dinner?” _Mother would have liked that._

His fingers, entwined in hers, squeezed briefly. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a bit on the short side, but in consolation, I should be able to keep a consistent one-a-week schedule through the holidays.


End file.
